


Bloom

by hippocrates460



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Based on Lilian's excellent work, Explicit Sexual Content, Love you bb, M/M, Please read Soulmate Flowers first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 03:51:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18563353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippocrates460/pseuds/hippocrates460
Summary: "Severus Snape sleeps for a week. Or that’s what Madame Pomfrey calls it at least, to Harry he looks dead. Harry spends the whole time near, but not touching, refusing to tell a secret that isn’t his to tell."





	Bloom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lilian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilian/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Soulmate Flowers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17408927) by [Lilian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilian/pseuds/Lilian). 



> Based on [Lilian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilian)'s [Soulmate Flowers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17408927). Thank you for letting me write this and post it and for being otherwise wonderful in every way.

Severus Snape sleeps for a week. Or that’s what Madame Pomfrey calls it at least, to Harry he looks dead. Harry spends the whole time near, but not touching, refusing to tell a secret that isn’t his to tell. Hermione and Ron pass by, between their own family troubles, and McGonagall keeps guard with him, spending most nights sleeping at Severus’ feet, in cat form.

When Severus wakes, it is not peaceful. The quiet of the Hospital Wing shatters when he breathes in and kicks McGonagall off the bed in one violent twitch, Harry tries to get him to calm down without touching him, hovering close, and telling him _you’re safe we’re safe it’s over_. It takes McGonagall, Madame Pomfrey, and a whole lot of Calming Draught to get Severus sitting against some pillows, breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth. Harry begs the worried-looking witches to leave them alone, and hopes for a kiss. A hug maybe. A warm hand to hold. Instead he gets a cold look and a barked order. So he tells the whole story, beginning to end, everything he wasn’t to tell anyone ever.

“Leave me,” Severus sighs, when Harry’s told him about dying and coming back and coming back for Severus, in all ways. He leans closer, and Severus cuts him off. “I’d rather not.”

It takes another week for Severus to be allowed back into his chambers, yet another before he can get himself out of bed and sit for any period of time in his sitting room. But Harry never leaves. He stays close enough to be touched, if Severus wanted to, close enough to touch, were it allowed. In the end it is an accident. Severus stumbles across the doorway and Harry is close enough to help him stand, and they both stare at where their hands are clasped. The flowers appear almost immediately, dark against pale skin, pale against dark.

When Harry’s made to leave, he goes to Hagrid, who lets him help in the gardens. Sometimes he helps rebuild the castle, other days he skips stones over the black lake for hours, watching the circles appear and disappear on the mirror-like surface.

“I want to touch you,” he sings. Close and closer still, never without permission. Sometimes just fingertips, other times their palms. Severus vibrates with something, anguish, judging by his face. “I want to tell people,” Harry tries, and Severus shakes no. “Let me help,” but he’s not allowed.

When his birthday comes, hot and bright, Severus steps into the living room where Harry spends most of his days, stands in the middle of the carpet, and unbuttons his outer robes. _For me_ , Harry thinks, as he feels himself stare, when he helps Severus set his robes aside. _For me,_ when pale chest appears, more with every button of the crisp white undershirt. _All mine_ , purple and white scars, fading lines and newer, and the stark black of the Dark Mark. Harry touches with reverence, and Severus closes his eyes, leans his head back in submission. Lets Harry practice skipping stones on his skin, gentle taps of his finger. One-two-three-four-five.

 

It takes three more weeks before he touches Harry back, but then they can’t stop. Severus has never met an obsession that didn’t consume him, and Harry is willing and eager. He’s moved in now, his trunk in a corner of the sitting room, the sofa as familiar as his four-poster up in the tower. He’ll be moving back there soon, at the combined insistence of Hermione and Severus.

The very first time is when Severus forgets something in his bedroom and comes back for it just as Harry steps out of the steaming bathroom into the corridor, wearing only a soft white towel around his hips. Severus drops whatever he was carrying, and backs Harry up against the wall with nothing more than his hunger. Harry hangs on for dear life, panting and hard in second, while Severus lets his hands come closer, and then touches. Harry is wet and needy, his skin prickles with flowers and goosebumps, and his back is hot against the cold dungeon walls. None of it matters when Severus licks a drop of water that is sliding down his neck, all the way up to where it came from, behind his ear.

Severus' hands slide down his torso, and the flowers ripple, back up his sides. Harry can’t breathe and looks up into Severus’ eyes for help, but Severus is too busy staring at his chest. Pale hands against Harry’s, the fading flowers on the back of Severus’ hands almost an exact match for Harry’s skin tone. It’s far too intimate to happen at eight in the morning, when they have things to do and places to go, and Harry’s knees buckle. He folds into Severus, who gasps but doesn’t let him fall. Never has. With trembling hands, Harry works his way into warm robes, to touch warm skin, and he doesn’t notice until he hears the door click that he’s been steered into Severus’ bedroom. He can’t help but look at where the noise came from, and when he turns back, Severus has a hand on his waist, the other on his shoulder, and the strangest expression Harry has ever seen on his face.

“You’ll have to talk to me,” Severus tells him, and Harry leans in for a kiss. It feels natural and common in the way that spring returning feels natural and common. Expected and otherworldly. He leans back to find the light overwhelming, Severus’ cheeks a strange pink, and a pull behind his very teeth.

“I want everything,” Harry promises, laying himself out on the bed for observation, relishing in the way that strong hands travel across his skin. He can’t take his eyes off of Severus, has never had such a view of the flowers, blooming out from his lips. He leans up to push the curtain of hair behind an ear, and grins when he finally gets it to stay. “You’re so beautiful,” he sighs, finally getting to stare. Being allowed.

Severus’ mouth does something complicated, but he lies down next to Harry so Harry can undress him and tap and prod and tickle him all over. Harry marvels at ivory stretches of skin and black thatchy hair, the way it changes and shifts, how the flowers rearrange to fit. How alive Severus is, how his ribs move as he takes shallow gasps of air. Severus is hard when his clothes come off, and clearly struggling by the time Harry finishes the exploration of his stomach, his arms, his legs. Severus’ eyes are shut tight, and when he twitches his cock bobs heavily. Without asking, Harry wraps him up in his fist, and watches Severus’ eyes fly open.

“Sorry,” he lets go. “Should’ve asked.”

Severus flushes red and he leans back. “No... apologies necessary.”

“Can I continue?”

A humpf and a nod will have to do, and then Harry gets to watch Severus struggle against the sheets, cross-legged between Severus’ knees, his face twisting and flushed. He stops when a thought comes to his mind.

“What?” Severus snarls, sitting up again, but he looks far more scared than angry.

“Would there be flowers in you?” Harry asks, and Severus’ face does the complicated thing again, but he leans in and pinches Harry’s face just so, until his jaw drops. Severus touches his tongue with a finger, then lies back down.

“I’ll let you know.” He wriggles his bony arse impatiently, and Harry kisses the closest knee.

“I meant somewhere else,” he tells Severus. All fondness, and even more so when he watches Severus groan and cover his face.

“I’m not going to let you check afterwards but feel free to try.”

Severus comes shouting and kicking, two fingers so deep in his arse that Harry feels a bit guilty when he pulls them out again. He takes no time to recover, pins Harry to the mattress with a feral ferocity, and sucks him down so expertly that Harry comes aching. Like it’s pulled from him. Like his skin fits different now.

Maybe it does, with all the flowers.

 


End file.
